


there's nothing more beautiful than drowning in your tears

by sultrygoblin



Category: Crimson Peak (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:00:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22733707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sultrygoblin/pseuds/sultrygoblin
Summary: one shot - request - this is how everything changes
Relationships: Lucille Sharpe/Thomas Sharpe, Thomas Sharpe/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 16





	there's nothing more beautiful than drowning in your tears

Fear took over your face. A look far too similar to the one you had given Thomas when you had become so certain you would die on Crimson Peak. Just as all the others had. And while they both were most certainly unhappy at the prison the crumbled mansion had become at his sister’s hand, he thought the worry of your demise had become one he had quelled. At least for the moment. What could make your eyes widen and lip quiver when he entered your chambers? Your body was sheened in sweat, kneeling next to the wastebasket that kept you far from the warm bed on such a cold morning. He shouldn’t close the door, he knows better. He is all too familiar with how quickly you could loosen Lucille’s shackles. But he does, whatever it is that has made you look as if you wished to simply disappear was not something meant for loneliness. Another whisper for them to share in dark moments.

The smell came next, the familiar smell of sick when there was nothing in one’s stomach to heave up. He knows, somewhere deep in his own gut, he knows what’s happening, but he can’t bring himself to truly think it. Not yet.

“Are you alright, my love?” he asks, kneeling down beside you, pressing the inside of his wrist to your forehead, “You’re not warm,” it must be poison.

Lucille had somehow discovered their hidden dalliances and had done what she bid necessary. As you always had. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, you breathe shaking as you shook your head, “I’m not ill, darling,” the way you say it, so soft and full of love, still sends shivers across his flesh, “But, you know that and so Lucille must have begun to poison me, yes?”

He hates that, hates how quickly the mask goes up. If he were another man, if they lived another life, there would be no need for masks, “I will not let you die,” he never plans to say the words, if he were truthful he hadn’t even remembered thinking them.

As quick as your shield had come up it falls, as do you, right into his arms. He holds no regret. He means those words and he will do what he can to keep them the truth. He holds you tight, nose buried in the crown of your head. You smell of burnt pine and rose, it felt like a lifetime ago you had been close enough to breathe in. You are sweeter than he remembers and he vows never to forget again.

“You may regret those words,” you sniffle as he climbs to his feet, gently pulling you with him, you have become almost frail in your time with them, perhaps soon you would be a wisp and disappear in the wind.

Thomas chose not to think of that either, “Tell me what’s wrong,” his eyes intent on yours, your cheek in the palm of his hand.

You want to melt into him, into this moment, forget everything else. Just as they had too few times before. Maybe…

“I’m pregnant,” there was no beating around the bush, no running from it. It was happening, here, now. Whether they liked it or not.

Joy, pure joy fills him at the words. Then his heart falls as yours must have as well, all happiness stolen in an instant. Lucille would never let you have a child, even if his wife was given the mercy of your life, there would be no welcoming the gift of their child’s. It would be taken from them, one way or another. You know this, just as he does. He no longer wonders at you fear, for it is one more thing they share.

“What can you do?” for the first time the sheen of tears in your eyes is sadness. You have given up. Why shouldn’t you?

He kisses you hard, pulling you tight against as if somehow he could pull you into himself. If only to protect you from Lucille’s wrath. It would not be enough. Nothing would be enough, nothing but… You moan, gripping his hair tightly with one hand, his collar the other. He can feel the life growing inside you move against him, it’s too early, he knows that. But he also knows what he felt.

“I will do what I must.”

*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*

It is quick and painless, she deserves that much. He expects to feel more pain, anguish, even just a semblance of guilt. He does not. When her breath hitches, shudders, then stops. When the light left her eyes so filled with betrayal. Surely when he buried her, something that took hours, the cold not helping his task, he’d expected to feel something horrid. But nothing came, just the sudden feeling of freedom. The dirt moves back into the hole much quicker than he had expected. Just like that, she was gone and no one but he and his wife would know.

The thought of you, glowing, swollen with their child hastened his steps. Changing his blouse and trousers, as well as cleaning the dirt from his skin. The red puddle has started to dry and grow cakey on the floor with the cold winter’s evening. A task for another day or perhaps he would lock the room away altogether. It didn’t matter, not really, it seemed unlikely they would even stay there. Raising children in a glorified shack on a ghost-ridden mountainside would not do, not if he would be a better parent than his own had been.

“Thomas,” your voice soft, meant not to frighten him.

It does the opposite, “Would you like to go home, my love?” turning to look at you. Pale, worried, and hauntingly beautiful, “Away from here,” stepping to you quickly, picking you up around the waist, “Your estate would be a wonderful place to raise the children.”

“Now it’s children?” raising your brows, carting your fingers through his home, “Yes, darling, I would like that very much indeed”

Love had made monsters of them all. But never again.

**Author's Note:**

> “a request for a Tom Hiddleston fic (character of your choosing) that is a little angsty where it’s reader telling him she’s pregnant” -anon


End file.
